


With Wings of Fire and Glass

by AmiLu



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mikoto lives AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiLu/pseuds/AmiLu
Summary: Itachi's blade misses the heart, and Uchiha Mikoto survives.
Relationships: Uchiha Mikoto & Uchiha Sasuke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	With Wings of Fire and Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting in my files for two months already. I had ideas for this 'verse but I don't think it will go anywhere. But who knows.
> 
> I hope you enjoy what there is, though! :)

When she comes to the first time, it’s to quiet halting sobs. Her head throbs with a mix of dull and sharp pulses and everything else feels distant, sensations of _dark-quiet-hurts-blood-pain_ blurred together in a blend of misery that exacerbates her headache and constricts her chest, thoughts of _why-myfault-hisfault-theirfault-theirfault-hisfault-mybaby-wHY_ the only thing in her mind, repeating in a never-ending loop.

There’s something solid under her cheek. It’s warm.

Instincts that have been dulled by obligation and forced passivity awaken in the back of her mind, forcing her to stop the storm in her thoughts and focus. Categorize. Analyze.

Everything is _wrong_ but there’s something different, something _important_ and she has to remember—

A high-pitched scream, broken and ragged and absolutely terrified makes all her efforts falter, her mind screeching in sudden recognition and alarm as a second set of instincts (more familiar, more recent, more _hers_ ) take over, flooding her with adrenaline and vicious stubborn strength. She knows that voice, she knows it, and—

Mikoto opens her eyes to blood and darkness and death, Sharingan eyes fixed upon her husband-friend-cager’s corpse, and she knows with utter certainty that she should be dead.

 _(my boy my son he did it he did it it hurts_ **_why_ ** _their fault their fault their_ **_fault)_**

She takes a deep breath that rattles her insides and makes her lungs burn, focusing on the pain for a second or two before she decisively pushes the bitter thoughts and all her pain away, into the back of her mind. She doesn't have the time or the emotional capacity to deal with any of that right now. Instead, she focuses on her hearing and follows the sounds of sobbing cries, orientating herself to start moving towards the point they originate from with the least amount of effort expended.

(She can feel herself fading out again but she can’t _she can’t_ she first has to get to him _get to Sasuke—_ )

Her arms don’t respond immediately and she bites back a sound of frustration but she perseveres, ignoring the agony that spreads through her body and the stab wound in her chest _(he missed the heart he_ missed _was it on purpose was it_ planned _doesn’t matter doesn’t_ matter _focus_ focus _)_ and finally gets onto her hands and knees. A hysterical part of her wants to laugh at the indignity, but she ignores it easily and instead tracks down the sound with her eyes.

The stab of pain in her heart this time has nothing to do with the actual stab wound, and Mikoto can’t stop the couple of tears that escape from her eyes and run down her cheeks. Her youngest son, her precious Sasuke, in slumped against the wall, blood on his clothes, his hands, his face. His eyes are wide and glassy and terrified as he whimpers and cries, unable to move or react, much less escape what Mikoto immediately recognizes as a genjutsu—a terrible, powerful one.

Pain and anger and betrayal bloom in her chest at the sight because _Itachi did this._ Itachi put her baby under one of the worst kinds of genjutsu imaginable. While she can understand his killing them _(their fault their fault_ **_their fault_** _)_ she cannot forgive him this, no matter what plans her genius son had concocted. Absolutely _nothing_ can justify his psychologically torturing the younger brother that had always _adored_ him.

Her eyes spin, focus sharpening, and before she’s even aware of it Mikoto has dragged herself to her son’s side, taken soft cheeks _(so soft so soft round baby cheeks he’s_ seven _)_ in her hands and forced their eyes to _connect._

It’s a mix of instinct and intuition and knowledge. Mikoto might be retired but she’s not _forgotten_. She doesn't only know _how_ to use her Sharingan but she’s achieved a _mastery_ in genjutsu, and for all his genius her eldest has always relied too heavily on his eyes without properly understanding the art beyond the basis of theory.

Mikoto forces her chakra into her boy’s system, manipulating it carefully so that instead of making the illusion burst like a bubble she can smooth it out, slowly and carefully. This way is slower but the illusion will safer to break, and it won't risk Sasuke’s psyche. There’s a shadow of the images conjured in the back of her mind, a faded layer of sound and smell and dark power that she ignores as she keeps working on her baby’s chakra network, starting with the deeper impressions and slowly getting closer and closer to the surface, until the only thing left is the eyes.

Sasuke’s cries have stopped, and while he’s still trembling and clammy and afraid, there’s a furrow in his brow Mikoto knows means he’s noticed something is wrong, and that he’s fighting it.

(Mikoto is so proud.)

Finally, the illusion breaks. Sasuke’s efforts help her put an end to it faster than she would have done alone. He blinks wide dark eyes at her, disoriented at first and then growing wider as they find their focus and then her. A sob tears out of his throat and he throws himself at her arms. Mikoto catches him without hesitation, without thought, even though it _hurts._

“Mom!” Sasuke’s voice is muffled as he clings to her, hands clutching at the back of her ruined kimono.

Mikoto’s aware enough to know her Sharingan has deactivated without her say-so. She’s low on chakra and her injury is catching up with her, dark spots a blemish on her much less detailed vision, but she ignores it as she hugs her son closer and kisses his hairline. She's determined to provide as much reassurance as she able to for as long as she’s conscious, because she doesn’t know if she’ll wake up again once she falls prey to the encroaching darkness.

 _(please let me_ live _please let me have this please my son_ needs _me—)_

She thinks she hears voices and shouts before she finally passes out.

When she comes to the second time, it’s to the smell of disinfectant and wilting flowers, the rhythmic beeping of a machine, and the warm weight of her son’s small hand in hers.

She blinks lethargically at the too white ceiling as all other senses wake up and sharpen, making use of her chakra to do a quick scan of her body's status. Mikoto is not a medic—she never trained for it, never found it appealing enough to learn more than the mere basics—but what she does know is enough.

Her chakra has mostly recovered from the exhaustion she remembers and the gaping wound in her chest _(almost her heart but_ not _he missed he_ missed _does it mean something?)_ has been closed at least. She takes a deeper breath, cautiously, curiously, braced for a pain that doesn’t come—no. It does, but it’s barely there, nothing like the fiery ache of before.

She’s alive and breathing.

She’ll _live._

“Mom?”

Mikoto’s eyes find Sasuke’s wide ones, and she smiles at him. It’s weak because for all that she’s healed she’s still tired, but the answering smile she gets in return is worth the effort.

“Sasuke—come here,” she says, pulling gently with the hand that’s entangled with his.

He doesn’t need any other prompt; he climbs over her bed and burrows into her side, hands clutching at her hospital shirt and face hidden in the space between her shoulder and her neck, tense as a bowstring about to release.

“My brave little boy,” she says, running her hand over his messy _(unwashed—how long has it been?)_ dark hair, and that’s all Sasuke needs to break.

A choked sound first, followed by a hitched breath, then he starts sobbing in earnest, and she comforts him as best as she can.

“Let it out, yes, let it all out,” she coaches in a soft voice, and isn’t ashamed to shed a few tears herself. Because as much as she understands why things have come to this, she can’t accept it, and she will mourn. Mourn her clan—blind and power-hungry as it had become over time without her even realizing—; mourn her husband—the only best friend she had left after the war and the Kyuubi, her companion and her warden both—; mourn her oldest son—her baby, her kin, her personal betrayer.

Her life as she knew it is over, but her losses at least have a reason she can understand, if not accept. Sasuke, however, is only seven. Sasuke doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, and she would prefer it if he never does.

“Nii-san, nii-san said—! And he... And _chichiue_ is not... and the clan... Mum, why? Why?!” he questions in between sobs, and she can’t answer, not truthfully, not right now. Maybe never.

(She will. She will if she has to, when he’s older and safer and away—because she knows that now that she’s survived things will not be easy. The playing field has changed, the pieces have shifted. The strategy will have to accommodate this anomaly, and Mikoto refuses to leave her son—only son now; Mikoto has only _one_ son—as a chess piece in a game of politics he has no way of playing on his own.)

“You have me, I’m here. I’m here, you’re not alone,” she promises, both to him and herself. There’s a flare of chakra outside her door that she easily recognizes. “You’ll never be alone.”

His grip tightens as he cries harder, but his shoulders _(so tiny so tiny he shouldn’t be carrying this weight he shouldn’t be carrying any weight at all)_ relax for the first time since Mikoto woke up.

The Lord Hokage is outside her door and her only son is crying on her shoulder, and Uchiha Mikoto swears that she’ll get him away from this place if it is the last thing she ever does.

“Are you sure about this, Mikoto-san?”

Mikoto stares at the aged man blankly. “With all due respect, Hokage-sama,” she says, and the honorific doesn’t sound like an insult only because she’s too drained to inflect her voice in any way, “my only priority right now is my son’s life and happiness. Sasuke isn’t one of your shinobi yet, and I’ve been retired since the third war ended. For all intents and purposes, we’re civilian, and as such it is our right to leave if we wish to.”

The Sandaime sighs, long and hard and defeated. His smile is tilted and self-deprecating. “I understand, Mikoto-san. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Mikoto tilts her head in tame thanks. “That’s appreciated, but unnecessary. It’s my wish to completely disappear with my son. The traitor is out there—” and she doesn’t mean her elder son, not completely, but she can pretend. By the flash in Sarutobi’s eyes, he gets it, too, “—and the best way to protect ourselves from him is by making him believe we’re dead.”

“That’s not going to sit well with some people.”

“Some people can be appeased with getting everything in the Uchiha compound that we do not take with us,” she says, sharply. “Don’t misunderstand, Hokage-sama. Sasuke and I will be getting out of here, and we will be counted as lost in the massacre’s aftermath, or the reason for it _will_ be revealed.”

Sarutobi’s face darkens, a thread of killing intent manifesting with just enough power to be intimidating. Mikoto, however, doesn’t flinch.

“That’s a dangerous threat to make,” he warns. “And a truth that may not end up in your favor.”

Mikoto smiles, bland and sweet. “If the deaths had been restricted to the guilty party only, perhaps,” she agrees. Sarutobi tries to hide a wince, but isn’t completely successful. “But the whole clan, children and babies included?” She tilts her head to the side, examining the man with an expression she acquired from her summons. “I don’t think so.”

Rubbing his face with a hand, Sarutobi deflates, his killing intent spluttering out as if it was never there. Then he nods, and stands up.

“Uchiha Mikoto did not survive the surgery,” he says. “She died merely five hours after it. Uchiha Sasuke’s mind never recovered from the terrible genjutsu he’d been placed under, and died three days later as his body shut down. The medics will attest to it.”

“Thank you,” she says, and it’s honest. “I’ll make sure we’re gone before three days are up.”

Sarutobi bows his head in acknowledgment and turns to go. “For what it's worth,” he says, and there’s true regret in his voice now, “this was not the way I’d hoped to resolve the issue. But certain parties took some, ah, liberties.”

Mikoto hums. “Perhaps it’s time Konoha’s leader prunes the tree, then,” she offers. “And, Sarutobi-sama.”

“Yes, Mikoto-san?”

“Make sure our kinsmen have their eyes, before the funeral pyre.”

Surprise, then dread cross Sarutobi’s face. “It will be done. Good luck, Mikoto-san. The will of fire will follow you wherever you go.”

Mikoto doesn’t answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated! <3


End file.
